


Broken Bones

by AutumnAvatar



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-02-28 08:00:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13267140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutumnAvatar/pseuds/AutumnAvatar
Summary: The streets of Brooklyn aren't what they used to be. Enter Steve Rogers, NYPD officer. Paired with Sam Wilson and some unlikely acquaintances, he takes on the New York underworld, discovering dark secrets and a clash of power that will ultimately shake the very definition of the world he holds dear.





	1. Prologue/The beginning

“No…” The word hung plaintively in the night air. Snowflakes had begun to flit down from the skies, ushering in a chilling calm. “No… no no no-“ Steve Rogers had a hand clapped to his side, his blood oozing warm and sticky from a bullet wound on his ribcage. His breath steamed in the air, cold ushering in an unwelcome winter night.

“- noooOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” The cry was guttural, visceral in the way it ripped free from the blond’s throat. His voice was already worn ragged as he hobbled towards his fallen partner, pain tinging his vision with darkness. The Brooklyn pavement was liberally spattered with crimson from his firefight with one of the most powerful Russian mafia presences in the city, the вор в зако́не. Both NYPD and mafioso blood was indistinguishable on the streets, intermingling lazily on its way to the sewers.

Rogers stumbled as his legs gave way, gunmetal blue eyes fixated on the other man’s face. Bullet holes riddled the front of the male’s kevlar vest, but whatever ammunition was used was leagues above what he was used to. No, there was something darkening an already black uniform. Already the brunet’s breath was slowing, each exhale increasingly more labored.

“Stay with me, please…” Rogers pleaded, ignoring his own pain to aid his comrade. His hands were shaky as he tried his best to stem the flow, just to keep his partner alive. Cloudy eyes met his, searching in confusion- with the barest flicker of recognition as he realized just who was pressing so firmly against his chest.

“S-steve…” he’d stammer with herculean effort, lips already tinged with a pallid gray.

“Save your breath, just-“

The plea fell on deaf ears, as the body beneath Rogers stilled. One last shaky breath would escape from the dying man in a soft apology before everything went quiet. Blue and red lights from the NYPD police cruiser would glimmer off the bloodstained badge on the dead man’s chest.

Barnes.

 

(flashback)

 

“I dunno, Barnes. What do you think?” Sam Wilson mused, discomfort evident in his tone of voice. An empty dixie cup, once filled with water, dangled from his fingertips.

James Buchanan Barnes glanced over to the PT area, watching the Academy drill sergeant bark at a smaller man to continue doing push ups, but the blond had been struggling since the first one. “ROGERS. YOU SACK OF SHIT, GET BACK UP.” was the booming shout as spindly arms gave way, causing passerby to either wince or glance over in shock.

James grimaced at the sight, feeling pity wash over him. To pass the physical test to even get into the Brooklyn Police academy, the applicant had to do at least 20 push ups. Barnes himself had done 23 without stopping. This… no, this was absolutely pathetic. How’d this guy even get here?

“I ASKED YOU TO DROP AND GIVE ME TWENTY. YOU’VE GIVEN ME HORSESHIT.” The older male roared. On the ground, gunmetal blue eyes squinched in pain as the blond struggled to push himself up. This whole ordeal was painful to watch. Was it just a figment of the imagination, or was Rogers wheezing with effort?

Every passing moment that ticked by was torture. Bucky was walking forward now, or at least his body was. ‘What on earth are you doing,’ he asked himself, before he heard himself saying: “Sir. I’ll take his place.” God.

Steely eyes met his, sending a shiver down his spine. Barnes felt his jaw clench and spine straighten to attention. He could have sworn he could see a vein throb in his superior’s neck as the senior officer registered just what was happening.

“You wanna take this runt’s place?” The sergeant scoffed, giving the trainee a once-over. The burly, barrel chested man barred Bucky’s path as his eyes narrowed. What seemed like an eternity of scrutiny flashed by in an instant before the sergeant stepped aside. “Fine, you want to play the hero, Barnes? You take his load, and double it. Double the bodies, double the punishment.”

Forty push ups. This was fine. He didn’t know the guy and here he was, doing 40 push ups. Great. Without any hesitation, Bucky dropped to the floor and began. One, two, three- by the time he reached 20, his arms were on fire. James didn’t dare look up, lest he see a smug grin on the sergeant’s whiskered face. That in itself was enough to ignite a fire in his belly to keep pushing forward. To his left, he could hear Steve stubbornly continue to attempt pushups, the dull thud of Roger’s scrawny body hitting the ground at the end of each one.

'23, 24-,’ he’d count loudly in his head, powering through the ache in his muscles as he kept going. Was it just him, or was the pause Steve was taking inbetween thuds getting longer and longer?

Don't get distracted.

’29, 30, 31-‘ By the time he had hit 40, his own arms gave out from beneath him, and he lay spreadeagled on the PT mat. The sergeant had simply grunted once the punishment was doled out and clomped off, footsteps fading down the hall to the left. Barnes rolled over, chest heaving- and was surprised to see the curious (and admittedly flushed) face of the man he had helped staring right at him.

“Y’know, you really didn’t have to do that.” “I know.” The brunet blinked owlishly before sitting up, much to his own chagrin. 40 push ups in a row hurt. A lot. Surely he wasn’t *that* out of shape. Legs splayed out in front, he leaned back heavily on his elbows.

“Sergeant Hodge is a bully, and for some reason he picks on me.” Steve was sitting up with his legs tucked against his chest, his gangly arms draped over his knees. “He’s not the only one who doubts why I’m here, you know…”

Bucky couldn’t help but laugh a bit at the blond’s self-assessment. “Why are you here then? Being a cop in Brooklyn ain’t exactly the glamorous life.” He grunted a bit, shifting upright a bit more.

“Well…” Steve started, his face clouding over. His voice was hesitant. “I‘ve been bullied a lot, y’know?” There was a terse chuckle, followed by a deep sigh. “I close my eyes and I see guys just like Sergeant Hodge. Thing is, you start running and they’ll never let you stop. You stand up, push back…” Rogers glanced over to gauge Bucky’s expression, his baby blue eyes softening a bit. “Can’t say no forever, right?”

“I guess so.” Barnes felt himself nodding, before heaving himself to his feet and dusting himself off. “I don’t think we’ve officially met. Name’s James Barnes.” He extended a hand in greeting.

“Steve Rogers. Nice to meetcha- and thanks for that.” Rogers took the hand, surprising James with a grip that belied the smaller man’s frame. This runt was full of surprises, wasn’t he? Damn.

What a strange kid.

* * *

 

(Chapter 1)

Morning rays beamed a spotlight for dancing dust motes, filtering through the blinds of the NYPD office. Steve Rogers sat at a well-worn desk, manila folders open containing multiple files of the same case. He was lost in thought, a yellow notepad a web of scribbles connecting what leads he had. Nervously he chewed on the end of his favorite pen, eyes narrowing as he re-read the entry that lay in front of him. Sure, some of the data was redacted but he had his own hunches. A half mug of cold coffee was within reach, forgotten in his activities. Absentmindedly he took a sip, making a face as the cold liquid hit his lips.

“Morning, Cap.”

Rogers started a bit, spilling a bit of coffee down his front. “Wilson- didn’t I tell you not to call me that?”

“Word around the office is you’re next in line for the job. Captain Sullivan’s retiring, and rumor is Lieutenant Flynn’s not cut out for Captain. You’re in.” Sam Wilson beamed, swapping out Steve’s cold coffee for a fresh mug. “Besides, ain’t no fun in being a desk jockey- you and that special training at the academy shaped you up for more than that. What’re you lookin’ at, anyways?”

“Oh, you know-“ Rogers sighed, running a hand through mussed blond hair. “The Zakone case.” He gestured to the mess; a printed label was on the biggest folder, reading [ вор в зако́не ] in bold letters. “We’ve been at a dead end for months now, ever since-“

“Bucky.” Sam finished quietly, his expression softening. “Damn, Rogers, you really don’t have to be working on this anymore. The department’ll find you a new partner, and you’ll get something else to get your mind off of-“

“Sam, as much as I appreciate the offer, I can’t shake the feeling that something’s wrong. It’s almost like that weapons deal was a setup. We should have had backup. We should have done something differently- and Bucky’d still… he’d still be here.” The blond’s eyes narrowed as he grit his teeth, knuckles whitening in a fist.

“We all miss Barnes, Steve, but you’re gonna find yourself pushin’ daisies at the rate you’re goin’.” Wilson plopped into the seat at the opposite side of the desk, sinking into the leather cushion. He took the top file into his hands, flipping through the pages until he saw the familiar face of James Buchanan Barnes. Steve Rogers wasn’t the only one who missed the officer. While alive, Barnes was a veritable ray of sunshine, always willing to help anyone in need. The only one who’d be more willing to lay his life on the line for his fellow underdog was sitting across from him.

An unlikely trio, the three would often work together over the 6 months of academy training. Once they had arrived, Wilson had been assigned to a different unit. Steve and James were lucky enough to be partnered up. Nobody could deny their teamwork and chemistry together- and the fact that Bucky was gone devastated Steve most of all. It wasn’t an unfamiliar sight to walk in on, Steve sipping on forgotten coffee as he ran through the same case file day to day, gleaning what leads he could. The stress was obvious in his demeanor, down to unkempt scruff on the blond’s face.

“You know as well as I that’s not gonna happen, Sam.” Grit evident in his voice, he tossed the pen onto the notepad, cracking another manila folder open. Rogers reached for the mug of coffee, momentarily forgetting that it was hot. He immediately jerked his hand back from the scalding heat, sucking wryly on his finger.

“We need your head in the game here. Cap can’t leave the rest of the department high and dry, not while we still need ya. Besides…,” Wilson’s voice dropped to a low whisper, his eyes narrowing as he checked his surroundings for eavesdroppers. “I know someone who owes me a favor.” He fished around in his pocket, pulling out a tattered business card with a number scrawled on the back. “Give that a call and you’ll get some help- something we can’t exactly provide. Say that the Falcon sent you.”

Steve glanced at the note, looking from the paper up to Sam’s face before he nodded his thanks. “I owe you one, Wilson.”

“I saved her ass once, y’know. She’s slippery as they come, but I really can’t see you

shut yourself away. You’re one of the best guys I know on the force, and that’s sayin’ something.” Sam stood, his friend’s cold coffee in hand.

“Yeah.” The blonde leaned back from the papers, looking back at the slip in his hand. The handwriting was neat and compact, the card itself a dog-eared blue slip advertising a local mediterranean restaurant.

As Sam was just turning, Rogers called out. “Hey, Sam. For lunch, you wanna grab some…" Rogers squinted at the card, trying to decipher the faded lettering. "...shawarmas?”

* * *

 The meeting place was a hole in the wall. A literal dump. Names were shoddily etched into the bar he sat at, and Steve Rogers genuinely doubted that he should even be drinking here. His appointment was running an hour late, already. Dressing in civvies wasn’t exactly the most comfortable attire either. Sure, his tucked in plaid button up matched with ironed khakis had gotten him curious looks. Being in uniform was more comfortable, but either way he’d stick out like a sore thumb.

He had called the number on the card at the end of his lunch break, only to meet an answering machine. He left a message, mentioning the “Falcon” as Sam had said. An hour later he received a text message with a time and place. Some place this was.

"Maybe I should leave…,” he murmured into his drink, downing the dregs of a Manhattan. The once pristine transparent ice sphere was just a pitiful lump at the bottom. Just as he set the glass down, his drink was replenished by another from down the bar.

A newcomer stepped into his frame of view. The bartender, a blonde, gave him a curious look. “I didn’t know fossils still roamed the earth. You look like you’re fresh out of the 1940s.” She was smirking as she leaned against the countertop. Her badge read “Mary”, green eyes giving Steve a once-over. “So…,” she began, her tongue running over her canines to linger to her lower lip. “What brings someone like you into a place like this?”

“Well, I was hoping to meet someone…” Steve started to say, his voice trailing off. “Guess I got stood up.” Rogers swilled the glass in his hands before taking a sip, feeling those emerald eyes bore into him. It was almost as if she was peeling off his clothes, readying to eat him alive. Quite honestly, it made him uncomfortable- and Steve wanted nothing else to do but to leave. Was he getting hot under the collar, or did someone mess with the thermostat? “It’s been swell, but I’ll be going now-“ He made an attempt to rise from his seat, but the bartender cut him off.

“Now, now, Cap." Her voice had a teasing lilt to the end as she leaned over the counter. "The little birdie that called in his favor for you won’t be too happy if you don’t make good on the offer, now would he?” She flashed a cheshire grin, eyes twinkling. “Steve, was it?”

Rogers’ jaw clenched tight, suddenly on edge. Something was off about her, just like that night. Something was wrong. “… How do you know who I am?” The words were sharp, accusatory, suddenly defensive.

“Relax, grandpa. We’re on the same side.” Mary unclipped her name tag, setting it down on the counter and removing her apron. Casually she tossed it aside, beckoning with a well-manicured finger for Steve to trail in her wake. When he didn’t initially follow, she turned and gave him a bored look. “Do you want your answers or not?"

Steve’s mouth opened and closed without a word, but he stood. Silently he weighed his decisions, regretting that he lacked the foresight to come without his badge and gun. Wherever he was going, he could only hope for the best. Sam Wilson hadn’t done anything to fail him yet, nor would he ever.

Here goes nothing.

 


	2. Manhattan.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drinks, a woman, and easter eggs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first "chapter" included a prologue so that's why it's so long. This one's a little shorter, ahaha. For some reason, I wanna name the chapters after drinks but y'know... only so many beverages exist.

Mary had led him out of the bar, down a winding alleyway into the back of another building. She could sense just how tense Steve was, chuckling softly to herself. This guy was something else. His eyes wouldn’t stop moving, absorbing as much information as he could about his surroundings, trying their best to score some facet of recognition. Nothing. He was so visibly tense that he wouldn’t budge if you hit him with a sledgehammer.

She led the duo to the back of an abandoned building, gesturing inside for Steve to enter. She flicked the switch near the door, a single light bulb illuminating a spartanly decorated room. Desk, two well-worn chairs, and a remarkable technologically advanced computer setup, complete with three separate monitors. Compared to the bare stock shelves and bleak furnishings, the presence of the computer was jarring. He had noticed a fingerprint scanner on the doorknob, but had kept that information to himself.

Just what on God’s green Earth was this blonde woman hiding?

Er- he had thought she was blonde until she shed the long wig, revealing scarlet hair that tumbled to her shoulders. Hair kept underneath that wig couldn’t possibly be so voluminous, but here she was, some sort of humanoid chameleon. She shrugged free of the bartender attire, black svelte leather hidden beneath. She donned a matching leather jacket (how was this woman not sweating?) and firmly shut the room door before turning to face him.

“Steven Grant Rogers, NYPD officer. Partnerless since the вор в зако́не incident, where James Buchanan Barnes and yourself were ambushed in a setup, orchestrated by one of your own superiors.” A bemused smile lingered at the corners of her lips. Slowly, teasingly, she sauntered to the desk chair. Languidly

“Hold on a moment, how did you-?” Steve’s eyes narrowed, a spark shooting up his spine. Thoughts, jumbled and fractured, flooded his mind. How did she know his full name? Setup? What did she mean by his own superiors? How-? “What... Who…?” he managed to voice before the woman before him interrupted.

“Mary Farell.” The redhead would say, before rattling off a list of names. “Laura Matthers, Marya Konn, Natalie Rushman- Or as your friend Sam Wilson knows me: Natasha Romanoff.” She sat down in front of the computer, jiggling the mouse to bring it to life. “My favorite so far was definitely Natalie Rushman.” Her eyes glinted in the lighting. There was something coy about her, he could feel it. “I work with…” Her voice lingered, hesitant. “… intelligence.”

“You’re a spy, then?” Steve replied, hesitant as he sat in a chair opposite her. His right hand came up to loosely cover his mouth, forefinger resting on his upper lip. That- would explain a lot.

“One of the best.” Natasha opened the desk drawer, pulling out a badge. In the light, the gold crest glinted, pristine. Beneath the winged eagle, the badge read “FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION”. Next to it was the ID, with “FBI” emblazoned on it in bold letters. The name listed: Tatiana Sokolova.

Rogers caught the name on the badge and shot her a curious look, which was doubly met with a mysteriously smug grin. The blond shook his head and pushed the badge back towards Natasha. “Why should I believe anything that you’re telling me? You just told me that the guys who put me here, who want this world to be a better place- they're the real ones who ended my best friend's life, not the guys who put bullet holes in his sternum.”

“Because you have a good heart, Rogers. One of the most genuine that I’ve seen. It just so happens that your interests align with mine.” She countered, typing swiftly on the mechanical keyboard. “That вор в зако́не case you’re working on is bigger than you thought. The weapons deal you were tipped on was just the first phase of their operations.” Natasha turned the closest monitor towards the blond, pointing to the display. "Dirty money's at play here, and that's the least of your worries."

Steve’s brow furrowed as he read, lips moving silently along with the words. “… None of this makes any sense.” The vocabulary and jargon in the file were beyond his routine use. “Is any of this what was redacted in my files?”

“Most of it, if anything.” The redhead nodded simply, continuing to type intently on a second screen. Bucky’s image popped up after she hit the enter button. “And Barnes- his death was intentional. There’s something going on behind the scenes that even _I_ don’t know about." Natasha gestured to herself, then to Steve. "Right now, you're just a chess piece on their way to the top.” She sat back in her seat, face clouding over. “So here’s my offer: we team up and shut these fuckers down. I sleep a little easier, and you put away the people who ended your buddy’s life. Deal?”

Rogers glanced once at the screen, seeing Bucky’s pixelated grin beaming back at him. Even for an ID picture, Bucky still let the sun shine through. Steve would do anything to see that smile again, and the people who took that opportunity away deserved to lie six feet under.

“Deal.”

* * *

Steve fumbled with the sleek USB drive he had attached to his keys, taking a moment to plug it into his home desktop. Technology was most definitely not his friend. Sure, he knew how to manage the basics, opening his emails and using word documents. Anything beyond the bare minimum to function as an officer of the law was beyond him. This was evident the well-loved iPod classic (a gift from Commissioner Erskine to a reluctant Steve as a graduation gift, preinstalled with the blond’s favorite music) lying on his desk, to the outdated desktop he now used. The newest tech he owned was an iPhone 5s, a gift from Sam when he had upgraded to the latest version. (“Really, Cap? A flip phone? Oh hell no, you’re not doing this. It’s 201X!”)

“Sweet Christmas…” he’d groan, waiting for the computer to register the thumb drive. While the firmware installed, Sam’s face popped up on his phone as the intro to Trouble Man began to play. “I come up hard baby, but now I’m cool- I didn’t make it sugar, playin’ by the rules—“

Interrupting the song, he tapped the green phone icon and set the call on speaker before returning his focus to his computer. As much as he hated to admit it, the ringtone was really starting to grow on him. Not that he'd ever admit it. “Hey, on your left,” was the rather chipper greeting.

“You’re really not lettin’ that go, are you?” Sam’s voice came in loud and clear, accompanied by the rustle of Sam’s movement on the other end.

“The only time I’d stop is when you pass me up on our runs.” There was a chuckle in Steve’s voice. They’d only known each other since the academy, and since the blond’s training with Erskine, Sam hadn’t been able to lap his companion on the track once. “What’s up?”

“How’d your meeting with the Black Widow go?”

“Black Widow?” The blond watched the flash drive’s contents pop up in a window, mouthing the names as he read. He paused, mind racing back to just how that meeting with Mary- or Natasha, went. “That’s what you call her?” He turned his head to look at his phone, distracted. “Isn’t a black widow some sort of spider?”

“Yeah, what’d she tell you her name was?”

“Mary… Ferrell. Er- Farell. Then… she told me her name was Natasha.” He added after a moment’s thought, clicking on a document labeled ‘проект единствo’, a gut feeling inclining him to do so. Up popped a picture of the Vitruvian man, accompanied by elaborate diagrams of bionic muscle structure. Sketches of replacement hands, legs, down to an object that was labeled ‘дуговой реактор’. Ignoring Wilson’s comment (Natasha? Wait, what?”), he stared at the diagram, recognizing only a bare minimum of romanized letters mixed among the Russian lettering.

“Darn, is there a translate button on this thing?” Steve muttered under his breath, scrolling through the document until he hit the English section. Finding the same picture, he read the label. “Arc reactor… what’s that?” It seemed to be an elaborate device, a veritable blueprint with miniscule type detailing parts and functionality. Just below it was a miniaturized version, compact enough to function as a battery for a vehicle. Or, to Steve's best guess, a robot.

“Isn’t the arc reactor that Stark project?,” was Sam’s reply.

Steve frowned slightly, shaking his head. Skimming the paragraphs that followed, his brow furrowed in concentration. “Nope, not ringing a bell.”

“Y’know, that billionaire playboy philanthropist on the news spoutin’ some shit about bein’ the new edge in clean energy. Said somethin’ about being able to power factories and stuff off the grid.”

More and more diagrams followed, futuristic weapons that should not be possible in this day and age. Guns filled with special bullets that could freeze people in place, nanotechnology that far superseded what was even in development. In the wrong hands, this could be devastating for a simple police officer like himself. If any of this was remotely possible that would mean a war that was most definitely above his pay grade. Suddenly, he acutely felt just how small he was.

“Sam…” there was a hesitant edge to the blond’s voice, a growing fear as the webbed notes on his desk started to form a distinctly clear picture in his head. “I think you need to see this for yourself.”

“What do you mean?” Wilson said, doubt creeping in at the end of the sentence.

Steve’s mouth was dry as he continued scrolling, diagrams of more and more intricate weapons until he arrived at the bottom of the file. All that was left on the screen was a large crimson star, the emblem of the project, with проект единствo emblazoned on a ribbon banner at the top. “How soon can you get here?”

“15 minutes, tops. I’m on my way.”

проект единствo - project: unity  
вор в зако́не - thief in law / legal thief  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder just how many of you would have guessed, ahaha. Black Widow is going to be a predominant character in this story, and I'd like to add more from the Marvel universe. Thanks again to the lovely @waifutella for being one of the best betas ever~
> 
> Sorry that the chapter's a little short, starting the swing of school. At least I'm timely, right? Thanks to all those who take the time to read this, drop a kudos or a comment, it really makes my day. :)

**Author's Note:**

> (wait time between chapters should be a week)


End file.
